Home Fires

by Gene Wolfe

  “How sure are you about all this, sir?”

  “Certain. I talked with him, although not for long. I realized how tall he was when he stood up.”

  “I don’t know him. I can’t think of anybody remotely like that, not even somebody I saw on tele. He was well dressed? You said something about a necktie.”

  Skip nodded. “Seersucker suit. Blue stripes, I think. Soft white shirt. Navy-blue tie with a red figure. I couldn’t tell what the figure was, but it was probably some kind of animal. White wing-tip shoes, well polished.”

  Brice grinned. “Socks?”

  “White. His watch looked expensive, but I didn’t recognize the make. No rings. This isn’t helping you, and you’re not helping me. Let me try another question. Do you know anyone currently on this ship named White?”

  Brice paused to think, his fingers drumming the arm of the couch. “No, sir. No, I don’t. I knew a White in the Naval Academy, sir. Bob White. I couldn’t tell you where he is now.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Steward.” Brice rose to admit a short, dark man with a tray.

  When the coffee and sandwiches had been apportioned, Skip said, “Someone called the man I described Mr. White. If—”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know his name.”

  “I don’t.” Skip took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and rediscovered that he was ravenously hungry. “I heard him called that. It may not be his real name. If I were made to bet, I’d bet that it isn’t.”

  Another bite of toast, turkey, and bacon gave Brice time in which to speak if he wanted it. He did not.

  “I watched the people Mick Tooley brought get off Soriano’s boat,” Skip said. “I saw Soriano’s men, too. This man wasn’t in either group. Therefore ‘Mr. White’ is a crewman or a passenger. Would you know him if he were in the crew?”

  “Absolutely. From what you say, he’d be the oldest crew member by far.”

  “Then he’s a passenger. I’m not sure the purser’s office tells me the truth. Will you call for me, and let me listen in?”

  Brice moved to the bed to use his computer. Settled there, he selected a number and touched the screen to turn up the volume.

  “Purser’s office.”

  “This is Lieutenant Brice. I’m looking for a male passenger named White—Mr. White. How many have we got?”

  “Just a moment, sir.”

  Brice waited.

  “None, sir.”

  “No passengers named White?” Brice looked at Skip inquiringly.

  “Try Blue,” Skip told him.

  Brice nodded and told the purser’s mate, “How about Blue? Mr. Blue. Anything like that.”

  “I’ll check, sir.”

  Brice waited again.

  “We’ve got one, sir. Mastergunner Chelle Sea Blue, sir. Stateroom Twenty-three C.”

  Brice glanced at Skip, who said, “Hang up.”

  “Thanks,” Brice told the purser’s mate, and did.

  Skip rose and began to pace.

  “Sorry I haven’t been of more help, sir.” Brice rose, too.

  “So am I. I want you to promise me that if anything turns up related to that shooting, or you learn anything you think might be of value to me, you’ll let me know.”

  “Will you promise not to take me to court?”

  “Yes. I will. I do.”

  “Then I’ll help you all I can.” Brice returned to his sandwich and iced coffee.

  “Good.” Skip smiled, and wondered how long it had been since he had smiled last. “I need more favors. Will you question your steward for me? Find out if he knows anything?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. I’m going to go down to the infirmary to talk to Susan.” As he opened the door, Skip turned. “One more thing. Tonight’s Formal Night in first class.”

  “I know.” Brice sighed. “Full-dress uniform, with decorations.”

  “Come by our table. I don’t know which one it will be. You’ll have to find us.”

  Brice nodded.

  “Supposedly, this ‘Mr. White’ will be there. Have a look at him. Did I give you my card?”

  “No. Maybe you could give me your phone number, too.”

  REFLECTION 15: Summum Jus Summa Injuria

  To be admitted to the bar is to be admitted to that area in the courtroom that is closed to everyone save the judge, the attorneys, and the witnesses. In times past, those ambitious to become attorneys attended court in order to familiarize themselves with the law, sitting as near as possible in order to hear better. When they were believed to have learned enough to practice, they were allowed to pass the bar that prevented spectators from intruding upon the workings of the court.

  I passed the bar long ago, and have appeared in court more than a thousand times; yet I am not permitted to have even a small penknife on my person. I might (as the law supposes) produce that fearsome weapon, mount to the bench in a dazzling leap, and employ it to slice open His Honor’s gizzard. This in a city in which ten thousand dojos teach their students how to kill with their bare hands.

  The bailiff is armed by law and custom, and everyone knows it. What far fewer know is that most judges have guns concealed by their robes. The police, who do know it, and who know too that it is a violation of the law, wink at it. If in an instant I were to become violently insane, I might slaughter one or two persons with my deadly penknife. The judge (judges assure us) will not yield to insanity, since judges never do.

  I have known judges who thought themselves God; it would seem that they were right. I was in court when another ridiculed a woman because she was pregnant. A judge once ruled that fleeing from the police gave the police reasonable cause to arrest, question, search, and lock up the terrified boy who fled. Who wouldn’t flee from the police, if he (or she) thought he could escape?

  There’s a common thread running through all this, or so it seems to me. It is giving in to fear, the surrender that used to be named cowardice. The boy was afraid of the police for good reason; but the police were afraid of him, simply because he feared them. The judge who ridiculed the pregnant woman had at last found someone he felt certain could never harm him, a victim who could not strike back under any circumstances. The judge who thinks himself God has found a fantasy that makes him safe, God being beyond the range of human weapons.

  The judges who bring their pistols to court fear even disarmed men and women, knowing in their hearts that some of their decisions should get them lynched.

  16. TABLE FOR FOUR

  Susan was in a private room more cramped than Chelle’s. She smiled wanly when Skip came in. “I’ve been wondering when you’d get around to me.”

  There was no chair, only a white-enameled stool. Skip sat. “I learned that you were in here about one hour ago, perhaps less.” When Susan said nothing, he added, “I was unconscious until eleven this morning.”

  “We’ve all got to sleep. They keep shooting me full of dope.”

  “Considering that you shot Dr. Prescott, I’d call it very kind of them.”

  Susan was silent for half a minute or more, seemingly studying beige walls without portholes. At last she said, “You know about that?”

  “It was obvious. There were three of you in there holding Chelle. The old man had no gun—he took yours to shoot Rick. Two guns had been used to kill Dr. Prescott. One had also been used to kill his nurse. Do I have to go on?”

  “No.” The wan smile returned. “You’ve made one mistake already. Maybe you’d better stop.”

  “You didn’t shoot Dr. Prescott?”

  “I did it. I was supposed to kill him, and Rick was supposed to kill the nurse. I loved him, loved Rick. Or thought I did, and thought he loved me.”

  Skip shrugged. “Perhaps he did.”

  “He was a m-machine.”

  “He was a cyborg, part human and part machine. They do it with accident victims when there aren’t enough limbs and organs available. I’ve met a few. Possibly they’re capable of love, or some are.
I wouldn’t know.”

  “I thought you knew everything.”

  “A moment ago, you said I’d made a mistake already. Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

  “I suppose.” Her voice was weak. “Why did you come to see me?”

  “There were three reasons, and it’s going to take me a while to go through all three. What was my mistake?”

  The wan smile flickered again. “Give me the first reason and I’ll tell you.”

  Skip smiled in return. “I’ll give you the first two—there would be no point in separating them. I care about you, Susan. I care about you, but I’ve treated you badly. I know that. I owe you damages. Damnum absque injuria is damage still. Is there anything at all I can do for you? Anything I can get you?”

  Her head moved from side to side, five degrees one way and five the other.

  “Then I’ll go on to the second. We’ll make port soon, and it could be as soon as tomorrow. An officer I spoke to thought it would be possible with fair winds and good luck. When we do, you’ll probably—probably, not certainly—be arrested. If you talk, you may be charged with murder.”

  “Or even if I don’t talk.”

  “Correct. Who killed the nurse?”

  “Rick did.” Susan shut her eyes. When she opened them again she said, “He’d wanted me to. I said I didn’t think I could shoot another woman, so we traded. I shot the doctor. Then Rick shot him when he didn’t die right away.”

  “Shot him twice.”

  Susan’s eyes closed again. “Several times. I don’t know how many.”

  “I’ll defend you, if you want me to, without fee. If you’d like to engage me, we need to get that settled right now. As things stand, it will be hard for me to withhold information from the police. On some matters it will be nearly impossible. Make me your attorney and it will get much easier. Once we’re ashore, I’ll resign the case and assign someone else to handle the trial.”

  “I’d rather have you.” She was groping for his hand.

  Skip made sure that she did not find it. “I’ll be a witness for the defense, so that’s out. Do you want me to represent you? Now?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then that’s settled. I’ll deal with the police to the best of my ability. You must insist upon having your attorney—Mick Tooley or me—present before you’ll talk to them. I can see you’re badly hurt, and that will make it difficult.”

  Susan’s eyes closed. “Difficult is my specialty.”

  “Fine. I’ll enlist Dr. Ueda if I can. She would be of enormous assistance to us.”

  Susan did not speak.

  “I think I know what happened to you. Do you want to tell me?”

  “I thought he loved me.…” Susan’s voice hardly rose above a whisper.

  “Perhaps he did. He was not simply a machine.”

  “He used me.”

  “So did I.” Skip’s voice was as soft as hers.

  “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

  “I’ll have to leave soon, but I’m not leaving now. Who is the old man who shot Rick?”

  “I don’t know. Why did he shoot Rick?”

  “That’s one of the things I’m trying to find out. You called him Mr. White, and said Mr. White had said you could be the one to kill me.”

  Susan nodded.

  “Who is he?”

  “He was Rick’s boss.…” Her voice faded away.

  “Is he a passenger on this ship?”

  “Rick did what he said to do. Except when he didn’t. Rick called him Mr. White, so that was what I called him. Can’t you see that none of this matters, Skip?”

  He bent nearer her. “What does? What matters, Susan? Tell me.”

  “Love.”

  “Love made you cut your arms.”

  “I— Yes. Yes, it did that. You’d been talking about cutting wrists.…”

  Skip waited.

  “You showed us that woman’s arm. Made her show it.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I did.”

  “So I thought that might work for me. Did you know I’d tried to kill myself before?”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t tell me, but I guessed it. You were in a suicide ring. I found that out shortly after you came on board.”

  He paused, expecting her to ask how he knew, and ready to refuse that information. She did not.

  “You planted the bomb. It killed two young women.”

  Susan shook her head.

  “You didn’t plant it?”

  “We didn’t want to kill them. Just Edith Eckhart.”

  “She’s effectively dead now,” Skip said. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

  “She’s here.… Another name.”

  From the doorway, Dr. Ueda said, “You’re tiring her. Please leave immediately.”

  “I’ve got one more question,” Skip told Dr. Ueda. “After that, I’ll have a few for you. It will be to your advantage to answer them, believe me.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Hardly. We’ve got a mess here, and the sooner we straighten it out and see that the right people go to jail—if anyone does—the better it will be for all of us.”

  He turned back to Susan. “Answer this, and I’ll go. You said we didn’t want to kill them. By we, did you mean the ring? Or someone here?”

  “Rick. Rick helped me and I helped him. Then she was with you. I didn’t think I could do it so he said it was all right, he’d set it off. He’d send a signal. Only he’s dead now, isn’t he? Isn’t Rick dead?”

  Skip rose. “Yes. That was why you tried to cut your wrists.”

  “I nearly won.” Susan’s voice was louder that he had expected, and firmer. “There was a glass in the bathroom.” Her voice rose again. “I was brave!”

  “You’re brave enough to live,” Skip told her, and kissed her forehead.

  * * *

  When they were seated in the tiny book-lined office that had become Dr. Ueda’s, she asked, “Are you trying to put that poor girl in prison?”

  “No. I’m an attorney, Doctor.”

  “I know. A famous one.”

  “Did you also know that your patient—you called her ‘that poor girl’—is my secretary?”

  Folklore, Skip reflected, insisted that Orientals never showed emotion. Dr. Ueda’s surprise was evident, although less than obvious. Another myth discredited.

  “She is. Naturally, my firm will defend her. As I told her, I’ll be a witness for the defense; so I can’t be her trial attorney. Even so, I want to lay the groundwork now. Are you aware that she planted the bomb that killed two young women on this ship?”

  Slowly, Dr. Ueda shook her head. “I didn’t know that, either.”

  “She did. She admitted it to me in there, and I feel certain she’ll admit it to others—to the police, as soon as we dock. It means we can’t simply try to convince a jury that she isn’t guilty. That would be unethical, and unwise as well. We’ll have to plead her deranged mental and emotional state. If we succeed—as I think we will—she may get the treatment she needs. If we fail…” Skip shrugged.

  “Lethal injection.”

  “Correct. We’ll need a deposition from you. If the prosecution doesn’t challenge your deposition, we won’t have to call you as a witness. I’m not asking for that deposition now. You’ll need time to think, and you may want to consult your own attorney. When you’ve had time for both, I’ll send somebody to depose you.”

  “She tried to kill herself.” Dr. Ueda hesitated. “Tried hard. She had slashed her arms—both arms—with broken glass.”

  Skip nodded. “Do you need someone to blame for that? Blame me.”

  “You dumped her?”

  “Yes. I terminated our relationship. I didn’t think of it as dumping her at the time, but perhaps she did.”

  To his surprise, Dr. Ueda smiled. “We like to dump men, not the other way around. We think men can take it. Men are tough. I’ve dumped three.”

  Skip
nodded.

  “We say you’re just little boys inside. It isn’t true, but we say it. Then we like to think that rejection can’t hurt you—that rejection won’t hurt little boys.” She sighed. “Haruki was— You don’t want to hear about my personal life.”

  “I’ll listen, if you want me to.”

  “I don’t. I was thinking about your secretary. About my patient.”

  “Susan. Her name’s Susan Clerkin.”

  “Did she begin as a clerk? Filing? All that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose so.”

  “She probably changed her last name, hoping the new name would help her get a job. I don’t suppose you know her original name?”

  Skip shook his head. “It had never even occurred to me that she might have changed it.”

  “It’s hard for women to find work. It has been since before I was born.”

  “Hard for men, too.”

  “Not as hard as it is for women. There are always more women, and there are fewer women in the Army.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Dr. Ueda smiled. “You’ve left the script, Mr. Grison. You’re supposed to say fewer women enlist.”

  Skip smiled, too. “Sorry.”

  “It’s when I win. I prove that more women enlist than men. Almost twice as many women flunk out during training. What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I hurt you without meaning to, and I’m very sorry. Let me change the subject. I went to medical school here, thinking that when I graduated I’d go back to Japan and practice there. They wouldn’t take me—our government wouldn’t. They told me to become a nurse. They needed nurses, or that’s what they said. I came back instead.”

  “Are you afraid you’ll be deported if you give us a favorable deposition?”

  Dr. Ueda sighed. “I’ve been an NAU citizen for years. Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t give you—or anyone else—a favorable or unfavorable deposition. I’m going to make a true one, the truth as I see it or as nearly true as I can get it.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Skip told her.

  “You said she’s killed two young women on this ship. Who were they?”